


Little Bride

by Rodya_Smith



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Dance with Dragons, Angst, Escape, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodya_Smith/pseuds/Rodya_Smith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reek and Arya are escaping from Winterfell. Will they be able to save themselves? They don't know.<br/>But Theon is sure about one thing: death is better than slavery</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bride

Little bride, you hold her hand. Run, run, little bride!

Dressed in rags like a wretched begging. Run, run, little bride!

In the tower she left the white dress of the altar, heavy, bulky, endless, stifling. Run, run, little bride!

And the whores die, the saviours disappear. How could you ever save your lives? There’s no solution, there’s no salvation. Torture! Torture! There, at the Dreadfort.

The little bride stops, she screams, she halts. Doesn’t move, doesn’t breath, she’s scared, she’s scared. Interned in the tower she will have to stay, imprisoned, raped, by a noble brute.

Little bride, you look at her, she cries. How could you do now, you, dog, and she, wife? Nothing, no longer, only the pain. Who are you? Who are you? Without a face, without a name.

Little bride, you look at her. She implored you, entreated you, besought you, begged you. “Save me, my hero! Save me, my hero!” But you’re not a hero, oh pliable Reek. Reek, Reek, which rhymes with weak.

Doomed! Doomed! Oh, you doomed her.

Skinned! Skinned! You marked her out.

And then you notice it, the snow-covered low wall. A jump, just a jump, and everything finishes.

You put an arm round her waist, you gently grab her, little, little, little bride.

You jump, you go down, your life ends here. You fly, yes, you fly! Between the cold snowflakes. Will the white blanket be stained with red? You don’t know, you don’t know, but soon you’ll discover it.

You are not afraid, you crave for the death. But the poor Jeyne, oh, poor Jeyne. Doesn’t deserve it, little poor Jeyne.

And the death, the death’s coming. You don’t fear her, you don’t fear her, you long her, you long her.

Theon thinks _“I don’t want to!”_ , Reek thinks _“My lord!”_. And you, what do you think?

_“My friend,_ at last _.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written in Italian, then I decided to translate it. It is plenty of redundancies, I know, but in the other language they worked. I don't know if in English is the same, I hope so.  
> Thanks to all the readers!


End file.
